Collision
by LinIsSleepy
Summary: Ikebukuro, home of the weird and everything in between. Where Misaki Ise uses her special abilities to work for the notorious Izaya Orihara to cause havoc for the sake of havoc. And then one day he gives her a very special job indeed. "Misaki dearest, you're going to get Shizu-chan to court you, and then fall desperately in love with you." Izaya/OC. Warning: rape and violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Let me preface this by saying that, in many cases, I don't really like labels. Sometimes labels can be helpful if you're browsing for books/fics and you're in the mood for a certain type of story, or you want to tell someone your beliefs or sexuality quickly and don't feel the need to go into detail. You get gist.**

 **But sometimes even when you identify with a group, you don't always necessarily match the exact criteria, or maybe you don't really match with any group. Labels can be convenient, but I don't tend to give them much authority.**

 **I don't really know how to label this fic (discounting genre) because really, I don't think a quick description represents this character all too well. I wasn't really thinking of what she was when she popped up in my head, so I find it difficult to label her now. Sometimes labels are subjective, too, and this character could definitely be several mutually exclusive things depending on the person. That being said, her characteristics and mentality are not representatives of any groups, just of this one character.**

 **I also don't usually put warnings before stories, but in this case I think it's necessary as Durarara!, despite its supernatural elements, sometimes comes across more as Slice of Life than the other anime I've written for. Just from the first chapter, I can tell that this is probably the darkest fic I've ever written, and I've never been one to write the light stuff. So.**

 **Feel free to let me know if you find a typo or general mistake. I read through it multiple times but you know, humans make mistakes. I'd rather be able to fix them, if I can. :)**

 **Warning: This story depicts** _rape_ **, blackmail, manipulation, and very unhealthy relationships. There are also discriminatory slurs from shit or misinformed characters.**

* * *

Misaki Ise knew she was being used.

But here's the thing.

She didn't care.

That wasn't true, actually. No, it made her happy. Glad. Because the one who was using her was _him_.

"I love this song," Misaki sighed, downing another shot of sake. "Isn't this a great song?"

"Sure is, baby," the man donning a pristine blue suit grinned, tipping the tall vase of alcohol and pouring her another shot. He played with a strand of her dark reddish hair, twirling it between his fingers. "You like music?"

She nodded, her smile dreamy and easy. She leaned closer. "I like a lot of things." When he kissed her hair, she giggled. "Like sushi!" Pulling back, she used her chopsticks to pop a roll into her mouth.

The man chuckled. "What else do you like, baby?"

She hummed in thought. "Well, I like—" she hiccupped. "Sake. And movies." Her eyelashes fluttered. She flicked her wrist and motioned him toward her. "And you." She pulled back again, giggling uncontrollably. If the bar wasn't as crowded as it was, she would have received annoyed looks.

"Guess what?" he smiled, his teeth visible and his nose wrinkling.

She rested her chin on her palm. "What?"

"Hmm…" he tapped his temple, like he was unsure if he should keep talking. "Nevermind. It's a secret."

Misaki whapped him harmlessly on the chest with her delicate hand, her bracelets rattling. "No fair! Tell me!"

He smiled and leaned back for the first time. "Oh, I don't know."

Her demeanor changed then. Her back straightened and she crossed her legs, drawing his eyes to them and where they ended at her short, skintight dress. Her long hair fell and he saw her neck.

"Secrets aren't nice," she murmured, touching his hand.

His body shook as he laughed silently. "My secret is…" He slowly trailed his hand across the table and to her knee. "I like you, too." He leaned in, shutting his eyes.

"That's not a very fun secret!" she exclaimed. She hopped off the stool suddenly, patting his shoulder. "Thanks for the drinks," she waved and turned into the crowd of drinkers.

He blinked, standing to follow her. The waiter shouted at him, and he fumbled to take out his wallet and enough yen to cover the bill.

"Wait up, baby," he whispered, laying his hand on her hip from behind. She glanced back in his direction, but kept walking. "What the hell. Did I say something wrong?"

"I don't like you anymore," she shrugged. She definitely wasn't as drunk as he'd thought.

"You can't just leave—"

Misaki spun, smirking. "Why?"

He licked his lips. "We were gonna have some fun." He slipped his hand into her hair again while he grabbed her hip. "You wanted fun, right?" He led her a few steps and pushed her into the wall, tilting his head.

Misaki wasn't looking at him anymore. "No, thanks." She pushed at his chest. He didn't move an inch.

"C'mon, baby," he nuzzled her cheek with his nose.

She shuddered. "It's barely five O'clock. Get a life."

Insulted, he pulled back. "What did you just say, bitch?"

But Misaki had used his shock to tear his hands off. She slipped behind the dancefloor of people before he could follow her this time and took the back door out of the bar.

* * *

The streets of Ikebukuro at night were almost always busy, especially near the end of summer. If that man found her on her way back, she could just start a commotion. He wouldn't have to balls to stay if she made a scene. Her heels clicked on the pavement.

"Did you have a good time?" _he_ asked, pulling up beside her from seemingly nowhere. She didn't have to look. She was just aware of him. She always was, when he let her.

Misaki's eyes lit up. "Izaya," she breathed, her cheeks growing warm. "Did you watch me in the bar?"

He smirked. "Should I have?"

"Were you jealous?"

He laughed, but she could tell he just didn't want to deal with her pouting. He was charming even when he was mentally patting her head. Her cheeks flushed with joy.

"I wanted you to be," Misaki admitted, wrapping her arms around her bare arms as if she were cold. She knew he'd seen her just before, perfectly fine. But she wanted to see if he would offer her his signature jacket.

He didn't. He just raised an eyebrow, amused.

"So, what did my dear Misaki discover about Mr. Oda Higuchi?"

She shivered for real. He never insulted her outright, never really rejected her vocally even though he dismissed her every advance. But he would throw her bones like that. Only when she was about to give him something he wanted. It was like his personal form of payment, something beyond money. Because he knew that she knew better than to believe it.

But she loved it.

"Other than the fact that he just tried to cheat on his wife?" Misaki smirked. "I saw he has a private fund that is sourced directly from his companies' stocks. He considered using the money to impress me." She'd been trying to make him at least consider it rather early on, but his mind mostly went to the gutter the second his blood started flowing south. Mostly, she saw his past conquests, which didn't do her a whole lot of good. She already knew he was a serial cheater. She caught a glimpse of the numbers only after she'd insulted him. Sometimes, getting her targets to think the right thoughts took some creativity.

She handed him a napkin with the account numbers she had seen in his mind. Izaya was careful not to touch her fingers. It wouldn't have mattered, with him, though. She had yet to see a single memory from him, and she had touched him numerous times. Of course, not as much as she would have liked.

"Other than that," she continued, unfazed, "he and his merrymen do cause quite a bit of havoc around the Ikebukuro finance scene." Higuchi had quite a lot of dirt on his competitors and quite a lot of weight to throw around. And by that, she meant he had a lot of men with bats and guns.

"So I've heard," Izaya shrugged, his smirk never wavering.

Of course he had heard. He probably already knew about the stocks, too, and was just using her to get the account number.

Her heart beat faster. As long as she was useful to him.

"Was there anything else you needed?" Misaki asked eagerly.

"I'll get back to you in a minute," he answered, grinning and pausing at a crosswalk. She noticed she'd followed him to a residential street, where traffic was nonexistent. They were alone, together. She took the opportunity to step closer to him, and more amusement flashed in his reddish eyes.

Then she heard a horse's whinny.

"Celty," Misaki waved, delighted. The black rider had just turned the corner and slowed to a stop in front of them. She dismounted her bike fluidly, and Misaki leaned in and embraced her. Celty pulled back and typed rapidly on her PDA.

'How have you been, Misaki?'

"I've been good," she smiled, glancing at Izaya. She blushed and twirled her hair. Celty hunched her shoulders and shifted uncomfortably. Misaki didn't keep her affections secret, even if it made others a little uncomfortable.

Izaya had undoubtedly set up a meeting with the headless rider, and had picked up Misaki on the way. Celty tended to help him more and ask questions less when he had her with him.

Izaya was polite if he was anything when he greeted her.

'What do you want?' she typed. Misaki could fully imagine the annoyance in her words.

"Straight to business, as usual," Izaya laughed. "Maybe I just wanted to see an old friend?"

Celty crossed her arms, unamused. Misaki laughed at the two.

"Have you heard the rumors about teenage girls going missing?" he went on. Despite the shift to a heavy topic, he never lost his smirk.

Celty nodded hesitantly. Misaki already knew Izaya had helped spread the rumors. And when he did that, he made sure everyone he _wanted_ to know them knew them.

"I happen to know of a group of lowlifes who plan to prey on an innocent girl this very night," He said, his grin widening when the headless rider tensed. "And I was hoping you would be so kind as to rescue the poor girl."

Celty nodded. She didn't really have a choice.

"Wonderful." Izaya clapped his hands together in thanks. Then he texted her the address where the men were supposed to trade their merchandise. "Don't worry, I know you would do this sort of thing for free, but I'll pay the usual fee anyway."

Celty didn't react other than mounting her famous bike. Misaki waved again as she sped off.

"Did you start the rumors from scratch or was there already an actual problem?" Misaki lowered her arm.

"This is Ikebukuro, dear. There will always be a problem like that." Izaya stuffed his hands in his jacket and turned back toward the shopping district, where'd they'd come from. Misaki followed him.

"Does that mean you hired those thugs to do the kidnapping?"

He threw his head back for a quick, genuine laugh. Warmth tingled in her limbs

"Now what makes you say that?"

"You wouldn't be paying Celty if this wasn't a part of a plan," she shrugged. Izaya wasn't exactly poor, and money didn't have much value to him, but that didn't mean he wasted his money. And his honor code was just so that he felt obligated to pay the rider for her troubles if he had purposely caused them. It was the same with her. He knew she would do anything he asked for free. Yet, she lived in one of the best apartment complexes in downtown Ikebukuro.

He tossed his hands up as he walked, ducking his head in mock defeat. "You caught me." She saw him look at her through the corner of his eye. "What are you going to do about it?"

Misaki kept walking. "Can I watch?"

He dropped his arms. His face said he was still amused, but knew she would ask.

"Not this time, I'm afraid."

"Are you worried I'll get hurt?" she asked, openly hopeful. It was worth it, to hear him chuckle again.

"I have another job for you, tonight."

She didn't have to tell him she would do it. "What is it?"

"An online friend of mine just moved to Ikebukuro," he said. "I was hoping you could welcome him to the city for me."

* * *

After a quick run home to throw her hair up and change into a gray jumper, shorts, and stockings, Misaki was back on the colorful streets of Ikebukuro. Izaya seemed to have an idea where the boy would be, but it was a big city and people were constantly moving. She wasn't surprised when her target had already left the train station.

She saw the hood of a very familiar van and immediately headed for it. The sliding doors were already open, two bodies in the front seats and two bodies swinging their feet over the road.

"Hey," she called. The four heads looked up.

"Misaki!" Erika grinned, bouncing out of the van. She jumped up for a hug. "It's been forever!"

Misaki saw a flash of their last encounter a few months ago. She hugged the girl back. It was impossible not to adore Erika, even though she'd personally seen the images the deviant had created in her head when she 'shipped' Shizuo and Izaya.

That had been a nightmare. Even Izaya didn't want to know what she'd seen when he noticed how pale she was.

She was pulled back to the van.

"Hey, Walker, Saburo," she flicked a wave. "Dotachin."

Kadota glared at her but knew she used the name on purpose to tease him. Telling her he didn't like it for the tenth time wasn't going to stop her from using it. Maybe the opposite.

Erika crawled back into the open van, but Misaki stopped outside the passenger side door.

"I haven't seen you guys in a while. Staying out of trouble?" She wrapped her hands over the open window.

Crossing his arms, Kadota sighed. "We've been playing it safe, sure. Mostly because these two didn't want to die before one of their precious manga was released."

"Naturally," she smiled. He didn't smile back, but he did shrug.

Walker popped up from behind him to wave. She waved back.

Her relationship with Kadota was complicated. She didn't get the sense that he disliked her, but she could tell he was cautious around her. Probably because of her choice of affiliation. When she touched him, he usually saw memories of her with Izaya. And everyone knew how Dotachin felt about Izaya Orihara. He probably wouldn't be quite as civil to her if Erika and Walker hadn't been so fond of her.

"You need something?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Yeah, actually. Have you seen Kida around here?"

"Masaomi?" he frowned. "I don't know if I should tell you."

 _Because you're probably asking for Izaya. And because of what happened in the war._

"We saw him head south down this road about three minutes ago," Saburo spoke up, tapping his wheel impatiently. He didn't look her way, but pink dusted his cheeks. Kadota pinched the bridge of his nose.

Misaki blinked at the driver, then turned to Kadota in curiosity. She pushed up on her toes and put her mouth near his partially covered ear. "Did you tell him recently?"

Kadota coughed and failed to hide his blush. "Yeah, sorry. He wanted to know... why I didn't try to date you in school, before… you know, _him_."

Misaki giggled. "Don't apologize. It's not a secret." She pecked him on the cheek and pulled back from the van.

She saw the memory of a red haired, black-eyed boy in a gray uniform, a flash of him grinning attractively. Then another of him at a locker, hunched, bruised, quiet, and broken.

"Thanks, guys." She waved goodbye. "Thanks, Dotachin."

* * *

As long as he could remember, he'd been able to see people.

What seeing meant was a little different to him than to most. When he was smaller, his mother held him in her arms. More than once, he saw the day he was born. He saw it in his mind, saw him slip out crying and pink and a little gross, as newborns were. When his father gave him piggyback rides, he saw him writing a collection of names on a slip of paper, the circled name at the bottom being his own.

With some curiosity and the learning process that all infants and toddlers utilize to further ensure their survival, he discovered that he could only see the memories of others with a touch. Clothes didn't count. And it wasn't every time a stranger patted his head or pinched his chubby cheeks. If he was fussy, he usually saw more. This was because his fussiness was contagious. His mother, when he cried, remembered a fun night drinking with friends. His father, when his mother asked him to be a proper father and feed him for once in his goddamn life, he saw a shirtless woman. Not his mother. When they were happy, the memories were, too. So with his child brain, he determined that he should only touch his parents when they were happy. It was a brilliant plan, really.

The seeing only really became a problem when he learned to talk. His parents were worried he would have an overactive imagination. Then they worried he was autistic. Then they realized they were dealing with a whole other beast. Of course, he didn't realize other kids couldn't see what he could. He didn't know that something was wrong with him.

His babysitters left. His cousins weren't allowed to visit. He often found his mother gripping his sleeved arm and painfully shaking him until he shut up.

He couldn't wait to finally start school. He liked people, even if they didn't like him. He could finally make friends.

Then he started attending. He was confused when he and another boy held hands, but he wouldn't tell him what he saw.

" _I_ saw your brother teach you how to throw a baseball," he offered. But no matter how he begged, none of the other kids would tell him what they saw from him. He went home his first day upset.

His mother asked him if he'd kept his promise to not touch anyone or talk about the memories. He told her he had. His teacher ratted him out later in the year, when she grew concerned by his behavior. His mother homeschooled him, after that. His father left around then, so it was lonely in the house. His mother didn't let him touch her anymore. Not even when he thought she was happy—mostly because, as soon as he brought it up or tried, she stopped smiling for days at a time.

His grandparents, though, told her that he needed to interact with other kids, so she started taking him to the park. He wasn't allowed to touch anyone, though. Once, he slipped up during tag and tapped a girl on the arm instead of her back. His mother had seen.

They didn't go to the park much after that. He didn't even see the girl. Her mind was focused on the game, not her emotions or her past. It had been completely normal contact.

All he had after that were his dolls, which his mother had been reluctant to purchase, but he had guilt tripped her. He didn't like his action figures, and if they weren't going to the park, he needed something to do at home.

He hadn't seen others for a long, long time

But the memories called to him. It was a compulsion, a desire. A need. He resorted to holding his mother's hand as she dreamed. Sometimes he saw the dream, sometimes he saw memories—it depended on the night and the dream. It ebbed the pressure in his head and chest.

His grandpa, though, when he learned his secret, let him touch him every time his mother wasn't there to see. Sometimes he visited when she went to the store, and he had the feeling she didn't know he was there. He bought him the things he dared never ask her mother for. A silver hair brush, first. Then a hair bow. Then a skirt. And a tube of lipstick, apple red.

"Tell me what you saw," was his grandpa's one request.

It didn't take him long to understand. Though his grandfather felt the emotions, he couldn't actually see his memories, not clearly. But he could.

Alzheimer's eventually took his grandpa. But he had learned again, something important.

Be hated, or be used. Those were his two options, with his sight.

He started middle school in Ikebukuro when his mother agreed that he was old enough to know better at that point. Mistakes wouldn't be as common. Even if he were to accidentally touch another kid, he knew to keep his mouth shut.

He loved school. He got along well with the other kids and was even rather popular. He was quite good-looking, with reddish tints in his hair, long eyelashes, a delicate nose, shapely lips, and an overall symmetrical face. He was the crush of practically every girl. He played baseball with the other boys on the weekends, but he played soccer for club, and he was athletic and fast, with a small, short, compact physique. His grades were decent and the other kids saw him as earnest.

He thrived.

High school was a little different, but nothing he couldn't handle. The school was bigger, not many of his old friends had chosen Raijin Academy as he had, and his A's and B's became just B's. But he quickly made new friends and he had a good reputation, which spread through the school because of his looks. Even upperclassmen confessed to him, but he politely rejected each time. Even when he rejected them, though, they found him charming. He was elected as a captain as a first-year on the soccer team, and he got dozens of chocolates on Valentine's day.

He liked high school even more than middle school.

Until his second secret boiled to the surface.

He was in the boys' locker room, showering after practice with a couple of his teammates. Boys acted strangely when there were no adults or females around, he decided. Two of them were rolling up wet towels and snapping them at each other.

They accidentally knocked into Keisuke Makino and the opened soap bottle in his hand was thrown. It skidded across the slippery tiles and the tail of the bottle was just small enough to get lodged into the grated drain.

"Motherfuckers!"

The two boys rubbed the backs of their heads sheepishly. "Our bad, Makino."

"It was an accident."

Keisuke glared at them.

"Here," he spoke up, having quietly watched the event. He offered his own bottle of soap.

Keisuke scowled and reached for it.

His fingers brushed his.

Sometimes, when the emotions were especially high or relevant, he saw more than one memory, even at the tiniest of touches. This is what happened, then.

 _He saw a computer screen in a darkened room. It was Keisuke in his bedroom, at a desk. He felt his hand slipping under the band of his boxers. He felt his desire. There were two men on the computer, embracing each other in the way he has seen his father and the woman who wasn't his mother._

 _Then he saw himself, playing soccer, laughing with friends across the classroom, rejecting a confession, sleeping, showering just now._

 _He shot back to the room. There was no computer this time. His hand was uncontrolled, moving quickly, in the same position it had been before. Keisuke moaned._

 _He moaned his name._

 _"Misaki!"_

 _It switched again, and he rolled a bottle of pills in his hand. He imagined popping the lid off and knocking the entire bottle back. He imagined going to sleep and staying there. Someone pounded on his door and he hastily slipped the bottle under his pillow._

"Thanks," Keisuke muttered, taking the soap. He avoided his eyes.

He didn't know how he felt. Was he supposed to be flattered, or creeped out? He spent the rest of the shower in silence. When he shut the water off, he'd realized he had mostly felt concern. The pill bottle had not been a good sign. And Keisuke had always been quiet or angry. Bad news, he had thought. But maybe instead of trouble, he was drowning. He kind of knew what that was like. He was worried about his teammate.

He dried himself and changed into his street clothes, taking his time until there were only two people left in the room. Someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Here," Keisuke said, returning the soap. He smiled at him, taking it and tossing it in his bag.

"Hey, Keisuke," he started, lacing up his shoes. Keisuke flinched and refused to turn from his locker. He hummed. "How have you been lately?"

"What's it to you?"

He sighed. Keisuke had a rough exterior. It took him ten minutes of small talk just to warm him up enough to invite him to karaoke that night with some of their teammates. He didn't think Keisuke had many friends on the team, but at least they were boys he knew.

Karaoke was fun, and rambunctious, and some kids broke out some alcohol and got totally wasted. Keisuke quietly drank in the corner and sang not a note, but he assumed that he probably wouldn't kill himself right there in the room, so that was good. He felt his eyes on him whenever he went to sing. He reminded himself to be especially careful about contact—drunk minds were loose and unfocused. There were a lot of memories he didn't want to see from Keisuke.

The others left periodically. Then he saw off the last of his teammates and was left alone with Keisuke. He had volunteered to pick up the room they had rented, to avoid a cleaning fine. Keisuke sat and watched him work, which slightly annoyed him, but he knew he must have been pretty far gone.

"All done," he announced for the benefit of the other boy. He approached him as he sprawled out across the couch. "Do you need me to walk you home?" Keisuke responded with a groan. They had only rented the room until midnight. He prodded him with his shoe. "Hey, we can't stay he—"

Then Keisuke's hand shot out and gripped his shin. He pulled and dragged him down. He was thrown onto the couch. Keisuke leaned over him, his body heavy and sake on his breath. He hadn't even seen anyone bring a bottle of something other than beer. He struggled to shove him off. Keisuke leaned closer in response.

"Misaki," he moaned. He pressed his lips to his, overwhelming him and his struggles. "Misaki."

 _He was back in the dark room, but the furniture was different, and he was younger. A different video was on the computer, but it was similar in content. His door flew open and his father stormed in. He smelled like alcohol and it burned his nose and made his eyes water. He'd seen._

He shoved at his chest. He hadn't had an opinion on Keisuke's appearance before, but just then he found him quite unattractive. His greasy brown hair and flat nose made him sick. Keisuke trapped his wrists and slammed them above his head. He squeaked at the uncomfortable change.

He shoved his tongue in his mouth and nipped his bottom lip, splitting it. The sudden taste of copper seemed to wake him.

Keisuke shoved off the couch in the next second, wiping his mouth on his jacket sleeve in disgust. He left without a word.

* * *

He was a little shaken, scared. His heart was beating too quickly when he arrived home. In his room, he looked at his reflection. His lip was swollen and bleeding worse than he had thought, dribbling down his chin. He was glad his mother had been asleep.

His appearance disgusted him. He didn't recognize who he was looking at. He wanted to look like himself.

One thing led to another, and soon he felt some relief. His milky thighs, with stockings, weren't too masculine. The skirt on his hips was more comfortable than his own skin. The apple-red lipstick seemingly healed his lip.

He almost cried when he had to right everything.

* * *

His friends and classmates asked what happened to his lip. He told them he was elbowed in soccer practice. He told his teammates that it happened when they had been drinking.

Kyouhei Kadota asked if he was 'good' and he'd only ever spoken to him a couple times before.

Even _he_ asked.

"What happened here?" Orihara peered at him curiously as they both washed their hands in the bathroom. He didn't normally see the second-year, just like with Kadota. He was in a different circle. The only thing he really knew about him was that he got into a lot of trouble in middle school. He'd even stabbed a member of the same club and had been arrested for it. Orihara was trouble.

But he couldn't be that bad, if he was concerned.

He smiled, a little touched. "Just a rambunctious night of Karaoke."

Orihara chuckled. "That sounds interesting." His smirk reached his eyes.

* * *

He corned Keisuke after practice again, even though he tried to run out of the empty locker room before he even saw his face.

"I just want to talk to you, Keisuke!" he exclaimed, blocking the door and only exit.

He was wild, animalistic. Tense. Coiled like a cobra.

He stepped closer. "First of all, I want you to know that it's okay."

Keisuke flinched, but didn't move his eyes from a spot on the tiles.

He went on. "It's okay… to like boys that way. You don't have to be scared." He took another step. "You're not alone. Ikebukuro is a big city. I'll even help you find someone to talk to about it." Keisuke's gaze was travelling closer to him. He took a deep breath. "But. I… I don't feel that way about you. I'm sorry. I want to help you, but I can't change how I feel."

Keisuke's mouth parted and he licked his dry lips. Sweat dripped from his nose and temple, even though he just showered.

"You—" he straightened. "Shut the fuck up, fag."

He frowned. "Insulting me isn't going to—"

"I said shut up!" He sprung and grabbed his collar, slamming him into the door. He pressed his arm to his throat. He was too scared to protest. He trembled as Keisuke pressed his body against him.

 _He was on the floor, in the kitchen this time. He wrapped his arms over his head, but he could see his father through the cracks, saw him heave with each swing of his fist._

"You," he panted, "are coming with me." He shuddered. Something hard prodded at his thigh. Keisuke's breath hit his neck and ear. "Right now. No phone calls, no texts, no talking to anyone we pass. Got it?"

"Fuck off," he spat, finding the strength to push the arm off his windpipe. Keisuke's lip drew back and revealed his gritted teeth. He flipped him around and shoved his cheek into the door instead, using one hand to hold both of his behind him. With the other, he grabbed his phone.

"One fucking word from you, and I swear you'll regret it." He shoved the screen right into his face.

It occurred to him then that, when he had first touched Keisuke's hand, he had seen a memory of himself sleeping. It hadn't really registered before, as he'd been so concerned about Keisuke's suicidal thoughts. But Keisuke had been to his house, at night.

The picture burned into his brain.

"Tell anyone about this, and everyone will know you're a fucking tranny." He shoved his weight into him again for good measure, grinding. "Better hope you're good at sucking."

* * *

Keisuke was hesitant the first time, like he couldn't believe he was actually doing it. And he had obviously never done it before.

"Stop giving me that look!" he shrieked. He slapped him.

 _'Stop judging me.'_

 _'Stop hurting me.'_

When his friends asked him why he was limping, he told them he must have pulled something in practice.

* * *

He'd lost weight and color in his cheeks, and his hair and eyes grew dull. He just stopped talking to people altogether. But he couldn't use soccer as an excuse for the bruises after he quit the team. Yet he had too many, too often. Eventually, people stopped asking and just started talking.

 _His mother beat him. He was in a gang. A fight club._

It was better than the truth.

One day, Kadota visited him at his locker. "Yo."

He responded with a minute nod, then he lowered his eyes and finished putting his second indoor shoe on.

"Listen, I'm not really one to talk when it comes to exemplary behavior," he started, unfazed. He watched his face, waiting for a reaction. "But I noticed you seemed to be acting strange lately."

"How would you know?" he countered. Dully. Monotonously.

Kadota blinked, a little taken aback. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Huh. People just talk, you know? That's how I know you're actually a pretty outgoing guy."

"It's personal," he said, shutting his locker. "I just got tired of pretending to be someone I'm not."

"If you're telling the truth, then good for you."

He turned and headed to the hallway.

"But if that Keisuke Makino kid is getting you mixed up with the wrong crowd," Kadota came up behind him. "Just say the word."

He considered it, he paused and thought about asking Kadota for help.

He didn't say anything, in the end.

* * *

His phone lit up through the fabric of his pocket during class. He almost ignored the text.

But he ended up raising his hand to ask to go to the bathroom.

"Again, Ise?" his teacher sighed.

But he let him leave.

"Took you long enough," Keisuke spat as he stepped into the west bathroom—it was the old one from before the renovations, and no one used it unless it was an emergency. But even the other restrooms were empty when class was in session. "Hurry up."

Makino yanked him into a stall and pressed down on his shoulders, forcing him to his knees. "Hands down," he ordered. "Use your mouth." The metal zipper clinked against his teeth, but he got it down. Keisuke grabbed his hair.

 _He saw himself again. They were the only memories Makino pictured when he made him do things. No more of his father's beatings. That was probably what he'd always wanted._

 _They were in that darkened bedroom. His boxers had been shoved into his mouth. He gagged and whined. Keisuke was over him, touching him, grinding._

 _"You love cock, don't you, fag?"_

 _There was an intense pressure. He screamed through his gag._

 _"Fuck! You scream like a girl."_

 _After a time, he flipped him, crushing his face into the mattress. He pulled his lower body up, almost folding him in half._

 _"Bounce," he commanded. He whimpered and trembled. He moved his hips._

 _"Fuck." Eventually he grabbed his hip bones himself and pounded. "Scream."_

"Be quiet," Makino hissed, gripping his hair tighter. "And deeper." He thrusted forward.

He gagged and yanked his head back reflexively to cough. "I can't," he gasped. "My jaw aches."

Makino yanked his hair down and forced his face to the ceiling. He hovered directly behind him, and then he jackhammered straight down. He ignored his whines.

"Swallow it." He crushed his cheek, where a three-day-old bruise was turning strange colors. He obeyed.

Makino zipped himself up and left. The rule was to count to one hundred before he was supposed to leave the stall.

He opened the door after fifty and went to the sink.

"Let me guess," Orihara tapped his chin under his grin. He was leaning against the bathroom wall by the door. "Karaoke again?"

He didn't smile this time. He just looked at him.

"I wonder if your secret's worth all that," he nodded toward the empty stall.

He swayed. Had Orihara heard? Had he been there the entire time? How had Makino not seen him?

He leaned on the sink to steady himself, cranking on the faucet.

"It's surprising," Orihara rested the back of his head on the wall laxly. He looked amused. "I didn't expect Misaki Ise to have _this_ type of secret."

He cupped his pale hands under the stream of water and brought it to his lips, rinsing and spitting multiple times. The leftover taste was enough to make him gag.

"Gum?"

He peered up to see a silver stick offered to him. He stared.

Orihara laughed and wagged it back and forth. "Take it."

He gave him some privacy after that. The gum helped.

The phone number written on the inside of the wrapper, he assumed, was Orihara's.

* * *

Summer break was bad. Makino ordered him to his house or some strange corner of the city every day, sometimes twice. He even intercepted him at a baseball game they happened to run into each other at. He made him follow him into the stadium's bathroom.

Once, he called him to his house when his dad was home.

He trudged into the kitchen panicked when he saw light pouring out from under the Makino patriarch's door.

Makino grabbed him in a steel grip and put his mouth on his ear. "Better be quiet. My dad hates fags like you."

He dragged him into the short hallway, right outside the door. Right in the open.

"I'm feeling doggystyle," he whispered hotly. "How about you?"

* * *

He thought about what Izaya had said. If it was all worth it. But it was more than just the one picture, now. Every time they did something new, Makino snapped a new piece of blackmail.

 _'There is one way out,'_ Izaya texted him. _'If you're not willing to let the truth out, then there's only one way this is all going to stop.'_

 _'What do you mean?'_

He didn't usually get a response when he asked for clarification. That was just how Izaya worked.

 _'Why haven't you told anyone what he does to you?'_

 _'Why haven't you?'_

He could practically _hear_ him laughing.

* * *

Makino had quit soccer, too, at the start of their second-year. The rumors that he had joined a gang were more and more plausible, but he wouldn't know for sure. It wasn't like he actually talked to him.

Though he searched for him, he quickly learned that he wouldn't see Izaya unless Izaya wanted him to. He was slowly getting used to his unspoken rules. Besides, from what he'd heard around school, Izaya had his own crazy life to deal with. Not to mention the infamous Shizuo Heiwajima, who seemed to despise him. He was just a side product.

But it was Izaya he had to thank for his return to health. He slowly started talking to his classmates again, and food wasn't quite so disgusting. Kadota even got off his back.

There were fan groups for Izaya, he'd heard. Girls who practically worshipped him, even the notoriously tough Mikage. He could have joined, if he'd really wanted to. But that wasn't how he operated. Besides, he he had no clue if Izaya was the type to care that he as a boy or not.

* * *

Halfway to winter break, Makino texted him again. He'd slowed down since summer vacation, but it wasn't like the text was a surprise. The bruise on his hip was just starting to heal. This time he sent him an address. Nothing unusual, really. It was for a warehouse, which made him think Makino was actually in a gang. His suspicions were confirmed when Makino had another guy with him this time.

He took one look and spun around to leave. But a second stranger had entered behind him and blocked the door.

"Holy shit!" the man beside Makino cackled. "No way. _Misaki Ise's_ your bitch?"

The walls were closing in on them. He couldn't breath. Hands grabbed his shoulders and steered him further into the hole.

"I have something for you," Makino grinned. "You'll love it, trust me."

He tossed a plastic bag at his feet. It was a girl's uniform.

"Makino mentioned you're a cross-dresser," the man behind him said. He flicked open a switchblade and ran the smooth face across his cheek. He whimpered. "Go ahead, then. Cross-dress."

The uniform was complete with stockings, a bra, and panties. There was more pictures. There was more shame. He didn't like this skirt. He didn't like their hands anymore than he liked Makino's.

"I can only handle two at once," he begged, tears streaming down his cheeks. Makino stepped onto the arch of his back, pressing him into the giant he straddled already. He was still dressed, but they tore open the shirt and hiked the skirt up past his hip. The panties restricted his thighs, pulled down. The third man stroked his hair mockingly. "You wanted to be a girl, right?" He grinned and he saw some teeth were missing. "Well, girls have three holes, so you'll just have to work a little harder."

Makino mounted him from above. The man at his face pressed his groin closer.

They pushed him beyond his limits. He screamed louder and more than ever. He saw so many memories that they blurred together. He saw them fucking other people, boys, girls. He saw them doing it to him, seconds ago, replayed.

He was bleeding when they left him on the ground. He was too weak to move.

He wasn't sure how long he was there. It could have been hours, or a day. He blacked out a few times. His muscles refused to work.

He was out again. Then something rolled him over, and he was blinking up at the high ceiling, his head cushioned.

"Izaya," he croaked, confused and dehydrated.

"Gotta say," he flicked him a smirk that was oddly comforting. "Here I'd thought Makino was too chicken to go this far." He tore the panties the rest of the way down his legs, which were black and blue all the way to his stockings. He fixed the skirt, then slid an arm under his knees and stood. He wasn't sure if the fact that he missed every stretch of his skin was a coincidence or not.

* * *

"This is crazy," Shinra, his new acquaintance, dabbed at his split lip. He flinched at the sting, but said nothing. It was the last injury to be fixed, after all, and the worst of it had already been treated.

Shinra Kishitani, Izaya had introduced. He wanted to be a doctor one day and knew a thing or two about patching people up from his father.

"Who knew Misaki Ise was in such trouble?" He wondered if he was actually that popular that people he'd never even heard of knew his name. "You know what they say," Shinra sighed dramatically. "The hot ones are always gay."

Izaya hadn't told him his secret or the reason he was blackmailed, then. He was glad he just thought he was into rough, kinky shit.

He finished buttoning up the crisp, borrowed shirt, although it went slowly due to the bandages constricting his wrist movement. "Thank you," he said in his way. His way was quiet, now.

Shinra shot a concerned glance to Izaya, who grinned it off.

He gave him some medication to take home for the pain. "Don't worry about the clothes," he said, waving him off. Izaya had left minutes ago and left him to walk home alone.

Not before asking him something, when Shinra had stepped into the other room to grab the medicine.

"What are you going to do now?"

He was quiet for a long time, staring at his hands. They were delicate and feminine.

"What did you mean by another option?"

He chuckled.

* * *

When he got home, limping, it was dark.

There was a box outside his house's door. It was a bottle of pills in an unlabeled prescription bottle.

 _Oh_.

He knew what the other option was.

 _'If you're not willing to let the truth out, then there's only one way this is all going to stop.'_

But.

He was beyond that, now.

* * *

Makino let him into his house.

"My dad's working," he grunted. "So feel free to be vocal." He ran his hand down his cheek and gently wrapped it around his delicate throat. He closed his eyes and let his lips relax as he saw himself held down in the uniform from above. Makino must have really enjoyed the other night.

He nodded at his long trench coat. "You can take that off."

"I'll keep it on for now."

Makino shrugged. He started to take him to the kitchen table.

"Not there," he spoke up, looking down the hallway.

"Not going to lie," Makino breathed, tugging him toward his bedroom. "I wasn't expecting you to text _me_." He chuckled. ushering them through the threshold. "But I guess everyone gets a little horny now and then." Makino nipped at his ear, and he saw another flash of him in the uniform as he shut the door behind him. Makino gripped his coat and pulled it open. "Shit, Misaki," he groaned and licked his lips.

He let the coat hit the floor. He was actually wearing the uniform. And white gloves.

He slipped his hands onto Makino's chest and leaned forward, his breath hitching. "Please. Just you this time. Just you." He let his eyelids flutter shut, lifting his face up to his lips. Makino moaned and let him do the work. He led them back, until Makino's knees hit his bed and he was forced to sit down.

The kiss was sweet, even as he straddled Makino's hips and sat in his lap. The man's head hit his pillow and he followed him. Sweaty hands traced his silky thighs and slipped up to the hem of his skirt.

Then Makino pressed into him and shoved his tongue past his sweet lips.

He bit off the lid of the packet he'd tucked into his cheek—a freezie package he'd tinkered with—and quickly pinched Makino's nose so its contents slipped down his throat.

"What the fuck?" Makino roared, breaking the kiss. He pulled his arm back to strike him.

"Shhh," he calmly leaned into him again, darting his tongue along his jaw line and the shell of his ear. Makino hesitated, confused. "Just something to really make you feel it…" He trailed his lips to his collarbone, working on the buttons of his shirt.

"O-Oh," Makino threw his head back.

When he saw that he had calmed, he slowed down, lifting his head to peer at the man beneath him. Makino glared. He slapped him across the cheek, and his hair flew into his face from the sudden impact. "Who said to stop?"

As soon as he recovered, he finished with the shirt. He rubbed him teasingly, slowly.

"Suck it," he ordered.

Slowly, slowly, he obeyed. Makino grunted heartily. And then he slowed his sounds, until he was snoring softly.

He pulled off with a pop and quickly got to work.

* * *

"Shit man, did you hear about Makino?" Fukubiki took a drag of a cigarette.

"Yeah," his larger companion, Hashitaka, rubbed the back of his dreaded head. "Heard the pussy went and offed himself last night with a bottle of pills." They stopped at the street corner wand waved for a taxi. The first drove right past them.

"The boss won't be happy we wasted all that time on him."

"No, but who's he gonna punish? Fucker's dead."

"You think the initiation was too metal for him?"

Hashitaka laughed. "Who knows. He _really_ wanted to join a gang, but that doesn't mean he knew what he was getting into." He paused. "You see that?"

Fukubiki looked across the street, confused. Then he frowned. "It's the Ise bitch. The hell he's doing around these parts again?"

They saw him across the street, leaning against a lamp post. He was watching them. He slipped into the building on the corner, a rackety wooden mess. It looked abandoned, there were so many boards.

"Shit, man."

"You think now that Makino's gone, he wants a new…?"

"I don't know. There's two of us and one of him. Let's go find out."

When the two entered the old paranoid man's house—who thought they were trying to rob him, because he had been warned about them beforehand—they weren't expecting the former police officer to shoot at them. He grandpa had, years before, mentioned that one of his friends had bragged to him about stealing a gun after he'd retired.

He heard the shots on the street with the rest of the crowd.

* * *

"That Misaki Ise is pretty interesting," Shinra said, smiling at his friend who was perched on a desk. They watched out the classroom window as a boy walked off the school grounds, heading home. His own home, this time. "Isn't he worried the police will find evidence?"

Izaya laughed, turning from the window. "Shinra."

The brunette blinked at him. "Yeah?"

"Have I ever told you how much I love humans?"

* * *

 **That was some hefty stuff. I apologize for the inconsistency of names. I tried to use them to show hate and relationship development. Keisuke Makino was Keisuke until the blackmailing. Izaya was Orihara before he started texting Misaki, and now he's just Izaya.**

 **Just to clarify, the other option Izaya was talking about was her own suicide—just seeing what Misaki would do—but Misaki took to murder. She chose not to be mad at him for being such an asshole. And she's seen enough of his antics to know that he does that kind of thing often.** **Unlike his other fans and enemies, though, I think Misaki understands Izaya better than anyone else. She does fall for his crap all the time and finds him unpredictable, but when everything's said and done, when others would hate him even if they had previously 'loved' him, Misaki just loves him even more. N** **ot the healthiest thing to do with a sociopath. We're going to be seeing that her mental health isn't the soundest (again, not a representation of any 'group' she would belong to, just a trait that this character has).** **Izaya was quite amused, though, when he realized she used the pills he gave her for her own suicide to fake her tormentors suicide.**

 **Kadota thought that Makino was getting her involved with a gang, and thus Misaki felt a disconnect with him (whereas Izaya knew the truth), so she didn't feel like she could ask him for help. Her entire issue revolved around what could have happened to her reputation, and here was someone who relied heavily on rumors to interact with her. We all know that Kadota is actually just a really heroic guy. And she knows that now, too. Kadota now believes that her 180 change was because of her identity issues, so the only ones who know what she went through are Izaya and Shinra (who's not stupid, no matter how he acts).**

 **The irony that she's now completely open about the secret that caused her such grief to keep, and her utter disregard for her reputation, is intentional.**

 **And yes, Misaki was born male, considered herself a boy through high school, but now considers herself a girl. She likes her body the way it is, though, and personally just has no desire to change it, neither with surgery nor hormones. It's all just her personal preference. She also stopped talking to her mom and moved out the second she was 18. The name Misaki (** 美咲) **, though many sites may say is just a girl name, is actually a unisex name (beautiful blossom) that is a tad on the girly side. That's why she didn't change her name. Though her name could have been the equivalent of John and she probably wouldn't have changed it.**

 **As far as sexual-orientation, I don't think that's something she even thinks about. For her, it's only Izaya. However, bodies aren't really a sacred thing to her, so she feels no guilt about being involved with other people, because it would mean nothing to her.**

 **As for her psychic ability, Izaya didn't know about it until after the events that we see here. More on that next time. But that's probably one of the only reasons he keeps her around and humors her.** **The only people who should know about it now are Misaki's estranged mother, Izaya, and probably Shinra.**

 **Please let me know what you thought.** **Should I continue this?**

 **What kind of person do you think Misaki is? This is a question I usually ask at the start of all my fics because I'm paranoid that my characterizations aren't very clear, so I would really appreciate to see what you think she's like.**

 **BTW, I'm not exactly feeling the title, so if you have any suggestions, please share them!**

 **Thank you awesome people for reading.**

 **~Lin**


	2. Chapter 2

"Miss Misaki!"

Misaki grinned and waved up at the Russian giant. Similar to Kadota, she was genuinely glad to see this man. It was something that very few people in Ikebukuro could say. "How are you, Simon?"

"Wonderful! You eat Russia Sushi, yes?"

Misaki considered buying Izaya some fatty tuna, just to surprise him. But he would probably rather have her job completed instead, so she shook her head. "Sorry, Simon. I'm kind of in a hurry. Have you seen Kida around here?"

"Ah, Masaomi-kun," Simon rubbed his chin, taking no offense to her refusal. "Just a minute ago he passed by with boy friend."

Misaki couldn't help but laugh as he pointed her in the direction her target had taken. And it wasn't long before she caught sight of a familiar blond head.

"That was easy."

She made a beeline toward the boy, until she was close enough to notice his short companion. A plain, black-haired boy shuffling beside him.

"Yo, Masaomi."

He flipped around, and she noticed how tense he was even though he donned a charming grin. Of course he was, after what happened to Saki. But she saw the mask he wore, the carefree slouch in his spine and his hands in his pockets. She saw right through it. In her line of work, that was what she was trained to see.

"Ah, Misaki. What's up?" She heard the wariness in his voice. She had established an individual relationship with the blond, had stayed out of Izaya's meddling in his life that short year ago, but her reputation preceded her. Misaki Ise worked with Izaya Orihara. No matter how kind she seemed, it was unwise to test her loyalties.

"I haven't seen you around for awhile. You look good." She gave a dazzling smile. "Who's this?"

Mikado Ryugamine, age fifteen, from the country in Saitama. He just move here to attend the prestigious Raira Academy with his childhood friend. He also founded the Dollars. She already knew more about him than Masaomi did. That didn't stop her from asking.

Mikado bowed, blushing lightly, as his friend introduced him. He spoke formally, no city dialect ruining his fluency.

She stuck out her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"This is Misaki Ise," Masaomi introduced. "She's a friend of Kadota's. The bandana guy we just met, in case you forgot."

"We were classmates," she explained as Mikado slipped his hand into her slender one.

"Misaki Ise…?"

 _He was with Masaomi, awed by his old friend's confidence in the crowded city. He'd just told him to stay away from two different people. Mikado wondered if that was a city thing, to be so judgmental. In Saitama, if you avoided people, you avoided half of his school. But, if Masaomi thought they were dangerous, they probably were. He murmured their names over and over again, lest he forget them._

 _Shizuo Heiwajima and Izaya Orihara._

" _Oh, and I'd probably steer clear of Misaki Ise, too," Masaomi chattered on, dragging Mikado through the streets._

" _Is...she dangerous, too?"_

" _Misaki? She's...alright. I wouldn't really say she's dangerous, though. More like….slippery. No one really knows what to think about her."_

" _Oh…"_

" _But!" Masaomi spun around on his heel, holding up a finger in the boy's face. "If you do end up running into her, beware!"_

" _Beware?" He thought he just said she wasn't dangerous._

" _She's a total babe. A ten out of ten."_

 _Mikado added her name to the list, but only after he recovered from Masaomi's joke. One hour in Ikebukuro and he already had enemies. Well, one-sided enemies. People to avoid. But if that's what Masaomi thought would be best..._

"Welcome to Ikebukuro," Misaki flashed her teeth, her winning smile, employing her charm. She saw the pink on his cheeks and figured she'd done what she'd come to do. Easy, again. But she'd expected it to be.

" _Make an impression,"_ Izaya had told her. _"Then you're free for the night."_

The boys waved back at her as she bid them farewell. A brief encounter. Nothing too special. Nothing too suspicious. Normal and innocent.

She wondered what Izaya had planned for them.

Speak of the devil.

"IIIIIIZAAAAYAAAA!" she heard Shizuo Heiwajima scream—she cocked her head to listen—one, two, three blocks away. Immediately, she broke into a run, glad she had traded her lacy wedges for comfortable slide-ons. She was also glad the famous monstrosity had such powerful lungs despite his addiction to cigarettes.

Not that she _needed_ to find him to save her employer. _He_ would be fine. But she was the type of person to worry anyway, if it was him. And the type who didn't want to miss any bit of action.

As it turned out, Shizuo—and Izaya, as was the case—were headed toward her, so she didn't need to worry about losing them. The vending machine that shot into the air overhead was also a helpful indicator. Once again, Misaki found herself running against the flow of the fleeing crowd.

"Now, now. Shizu-chan," Izaya teased, just as he happened to leap into her field of vision. Obviously he hated the blond, but he also liked to seek him out every once in awhile to mess with him or sabotage a job. If that turned out to be the case, she would turn down the nearest alleyway and never look back—she wasn't _suicidal_. But she could tell instantly that this was not one of those time. Judging from the direction they had come, the two mortal enemies must have bumped into each other while Izaya was on his way home. "I'll play nice if you do." He picked up his speed and jumped to the side just as a road sign sailed by his head. A second later, he flicked a knife open and launched it behind him. Shizuo ducked just as he turned the corner, bellowing in rage when he realized silver death had been millimeters from his face. His _instincts_ had saved him.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Misaki murmured, undeniably awed and off put at the same time. And she'd thought her _sight_ was otherworldly. Shizuo was stranger than Celty.

"Ah, how nice of you to join us," Izaya said as she reached him. The street was devoid of people by now. Ikebukuro was used to the rampages.

"I thought I would steal you away for a bit," Misaki smiled, happily playing along.

She back-tracked at Izaya's side until another sign soared their way. They managed to dodge, but it was hard to judge its trajectory. Signs and poles had strange aerodynamics because of the flat and long shape. In case you didn't know.

She saw the bodyguard tense. So he noticed her.

"You again," Shizuo snarled. "Get out of here. This is between me and the flea."

And this was the other way Misaki was useful to Izaya; she wasn't scared to put herself in Shizuo's line of fire. Shizuo was dangerous and unpredictable and getting close to him during a rampage required experience and skill. Getting close to his target and the origins of his rage required even more. Skill, and nerves of steel.

But, as they all knew, Shizuo would never intentionally harm an innocent.

"I said, get out of here!" the blond growled, slowing his chase to a crawl. Izaya laughed even though he knew it wouldn't help.

"I'm not leaving," Misaki stood her ground. But she also knocked her skinny knees in a little and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. Shizuo didn't have mercy for the strong or the brain-washed by Izaya. So she played the part of a pacifist, a scared girl who was risking her neck to stop a war. And a victim of Izaya rather than a follower. Not that Izaya didn't control any and all gossip in their high school, but the number of girls he'd manipulated was unhideable and she had no doubt everyone had heard who Misaki Ise latched onto right before he graduated. Shizuo would have heard everything about Izaya, in that time where kids gossiped and could find people to gossip to, even if they didn't want to listen. Kadota usually stayed out of drama, too, and as far as he knew, he knew every little detail about her life.

She had always reasoned their history together at their old school was why Shizuo didn't just attack her along with Izaya.

Her heart pounded in her ear and she swallowed thickly as Shizuo stopped in the middle of the road, his chest heaving. He was steaming with anger. But Misaki slipped between him and Izaya, who now slouched with his hands in his pockets. Probably gripping knives.

This exact situation had happened before. She didn't know why this would be any different.

But Izaya said, "See, Shizu-chan? The honorable Misaki Ise wants you to stop trying to hurt me." He shrugged.

The bodyguard barked at him to shut up. Then Shizuo straightened. And paused. And scratched his head. She heard him mutter to himself, "Misaki...Ise?" She should have been intimidated, as his anger was ever present if Izaya was in the vicinity. She blinked.

"Why does that sound so familiar."

And then it hit her.

Izaya had, with no reason in particular, never really mentioned her name before. It just never came up. It was just something people knew.

But.

Although Misaki Ise was a name most students had heard in her high school, and even now it was a name most in his crowd was familiar with, Shizuo Heiwajima was so far off in his own little destructive world that _he had no idea who she was._ Even if she hadn't… changed so much, she really doubted a different result. He didn't recognize her from high school. Her assumption had been off.

"Dude," she muttered, intending only for herself to hear. "It hasn't even been a decade."

And then her mind was blown a second time. She turned to Izaya and saw surprise in his porcelain face.

"Holy shit."

Izaya Orihara hadn't seen it coming, that a person from his own class didn't know who Misaki Ise was. All those past stops, they had misinterpreted. _Izaya had guessed wrong._

Shizuo had no idea who she was.

And yeah, she was a little offended.

It was Izaya who broke out of his stupor first, motioning for her to escape with him. They fled in the confusion, slipping into and alley and then rejoining the crowd and retracing their steps.

Misaki joined him in his apartment, still confounded but gradually recovering. It wasn't like she was a celebrity. But she had most definitely interacted with Shizuo before they had graduated, fully under the impression that he was aware of who she was.

What a guy.

* * *

She forced herself to forget the entire day as Izaya let her into his apartment. She was… probably his most frequent visitor. But that didn't make the privilege any less of a treat. A wide, open livingroom, a plush and crisp furniture set, a floating staircase to lead to the master bedroom, and a top-notch kitchen. Information was like diamonds. Apparently.

Izaya threw his jacket on a coat rack, and Misaki slipped her shoes off, neatly stacking them away. Not many people knew, but Izaya was a but of a clean freak. Misaki found it cute. But it was also just one of those little details that she alone knew, something that made her special. She would guard that secret closer than she would her sight.

"I knew he was stupid," Izaya muttered, chuckling. "Shizu-chan really is unpredictable."

Misaki wanted to swoon at his voice but managed to contain herself. She always agreed with him, of course, but personally she had no qualms against Shizuo. Everyone hated Izaya, that was nothing special. The bodyguard had thrown some debris her way, but never on purpose, and she had never not been able to dodge. Other men had tried worse with her. She just couldn't muster up the hate. Or any other feeling, really. He _did_ give her an excuse to run toward Izaya, though, so she couldn't really complain.

Before she could say anything else, Izaya was already on his cell phone, listening closely but barely responding. He'd hung up again by the time he flung himself into her plush office chair.

"It seems Higuchi didn't respond well to being blackmailed by Yagiri Pharmaceuticals."

"You already sold them the account numbers?" She'd just gotten them to him a few hours ago.

He laughed. "They were making their move before even you had it. They bluffed."

"Because _you_ bluffed," she concluded. Yagiri Pharmaceuticals believed Izaya always had such a playing chip, probably thought they just hadn't found his price yet, but maybe would soon.

She assumed Izaya had directly pushed them into playing the bluff. Now those numbers were priceless. "Am I getting a bonus?"

She could have died happy when he laughed. And promptly ignored her. "I imagine I'll be contacted by both parties before long."

"Higuchi might call their bluff yet," she tapped her chin. "He seemed pretty confident they were secure."

Izaya shook his head, like she was forgetting something important. "He's the type to brag about his money to a girl in a bar. He'll be wondering if maybe one of these days, he had a little too much to drink."

She hated to be skeptical of him, but her instincts made her uneasy. "I just feel like he won't buy it." She leaned against the back of his couch. "Should I sleep with him and find more dirt?"

Izaya hummed his smirk, turning to his computer. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about him." And she instantly knew he had done more with Higuchi than he had told her. She should have realized that right away. Izaya observed. But he still pulled all the strings.

"Besides," he typed away, "Higuchi's a little too superficial for you."

She hummed, agreeing with him now that he'd said it. Higuchi would take one look at her body and he would reject her with disgust. Sometimes people surprised her, though, and cared less than she would have expected them too. They were usually the most aggressive ones, though, the ones who wanted to feel superior and lashed out, who thought _she_ would definitely be inferior to them. Because of who she was and what society thought of her. Higuchi was different. He was open about his affairs, because to him the woman he bedded had sign-exchange value. From their looks. Misaki Ise would not be a valuable commodity if word ever got out. To his crowd, of course. It wasn't like it was a secret.

She announced that she was going to wash her face and slipped into the bathroom.

Of course, it was just as clean and expensive as the rest of the apartment. The black and white tiles were so shiny that they were almost chrome. The bathtub, even though it wasn't the master bathroom, was roomy, and she personally knew the jets were powerful and luxurious.

Misaki was strangely sore. It took her a moment to remember how Oda Higuchi had manhandled her earlier that night. Finesse was not in the older man's vocabulary. Sighing, she rubbed the back of her neck and turned to the mirror.

Since she'd grown her hair out, the red was more prominent, a little on the bushy side. Her eyes were still smudged with the eyeliner and gray eyeshadow she'd applied before she'd gone out with Higuchi. Her arms were slender and toned, not soft, not muscular. The adam's apple protruding from her willowy neck, one of few reminders of her past, was deceptively small, almost unnoticeable.

The girl in the mirror could have been a model. Yet. Yet.

Yet Izaya Orihara found her amusing, and nothing else.

At first, when she was with him her looks embarrassed her. Whether she dressed up or tried to appear effortless, he would be amused for all the wrong reasons. If she'd try a stunt to catch his attention or spark his jealousy, he'd just see through her, every time, like she was transparent.

She'd since learned. She dressed for herself. Maybe her job, if she thought it would help her. With Izaya, she would always be honest with her intentions, would always ask if he was jealous when she slept with other people, even though she only really ever did it for information, because unfocused minds and lots of skin contact was the perfect recipe for a secret.

He knew it all anyway. Why bother with lying?

Yet. Yet. Even though she'd worked for him for years, even though he took care of her financial situations, ensuring that she could continue that work, even though he undeniably gave her preferential treatment—with his time, his compliments, his _lack_ of sabotaging—Misaki Ise was nothing to Izaya, nothing but a pawn.

She couldn't bring herself to blame him for it. Couldn't not love it, not because she liked being his pawn, but because the fact that she was one even after all that they'd been through together was just another thing that made him, him. His love of humans, as he described it, and his separation from them. It was just how Izaya was. If she loved him, how could she not love that aspect as well? It was who he was.

Misaki washed her face in the sink, careful not to splash water into her eyes lest she ruin her makeup.

Izaya was spinning leisurely in his chair, observing his window and his apartment, noticing the moment she entered the room but not acknowledging her. Though his signature smirk never faded, she saw contemplation in his eyes. An idea was cooking.

"What are you up to now?" she asked, not unfondly. She slipped onto the pristine sofa, pulling a throw pillow to her chest and peering at him over the back, her long, pale legs dangling tantalizingly over the edge. She watched him spin three more times before he caught himself on his desk. A decision had been made.

"My dear Misaki," he announced, and her heart fluttered. Izaya noticed, of course, and she thought that just maybe his smirk widened a little. "I was just thinking of a way to mess with Shizu-chan indefinitely."

"Indefinitely."

"Indefinitely. It's an approach I've never tried before, so it's going to be interesting. However, all the work goes to you, I'm afraid."

Misaki rested her chin on the sofa, intrigued. Izaya tended to get involved a little more personally when it involved Shizuo. He also had never asked her to do a job that would directly hinder the blond. She'd hoped it was because he was worried about her getting hurt and didn't want him blowing up at his secretly psychic employee. The real reason, she wouldn't know.

Izaya knew he didn't have to ask if she'd say yes. And he knew she would listen to his every word without prompt.

He picked up a white chess piece on the Othello board and slid it to the opposite end, placing it by one of the smaller Go pieces. It had been the queen. "Misaki dearest, you're going to get Shizu-chan to court you, and then fall desperately in love with you."

* * *

 **Just wanna say, Misaki is rather good-looking, but a lot of her charm is a skill she attained through her work. She's charming for a living, basically. She's learned a lot from Izaya, but rather than an observer, she's another player. On Izaya's gameboard, she's the queen, not for sentimental reasons, mind you. In his game, she's just the most far-reaching and mobile piece... not that he doesn't move any other piece anyway he wants.**

 **Izaya sent her to charm Mikado, superficially, to make it easier to manipulate him later on. Not that he needed her, as we know, but if you have a tool that makes a job easier, why not use it? Masaomi is aware of her association with Izaya, but they were careful never to be seen together by him, so although he's suspicious and pretty sure she's another of his victims, he's rather confused and conflicted when it comes to her. Misaki is similar to Izaya in the way that she knows everyone and every piece of drama, and she ties a lot of strangers together.**

 **Thank you for reading. If you happened to like it, please leave a review as that would be much appreciated.**

 **Thank you!**

 **~Lin**


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